


Tangles

by popatochisp



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horrorfell (Undertale), Crafts, Disability, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Horrorfell Papyrus (Undertale), Horrorfell Sans (Undertale), M/M, Meet-Cute, Memory Issues, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Permanent Injury, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:00:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22458358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popatochisp/pseuds/popatochisp
Summary: Well, I came up with aHorrorfellconcept and, because I have no self-control, I drafted up an outline within like, 48 hours. OTLSo...here we go, I guess! XDQuick notes relevant for this chapter if you don't want to read all the stuff in the link: in this AU, Sans is mute and relies on sign to communicate. He's not the best at it yet because of the big hole in his skull that messes with his memory retention, but he's working on it.He also makes blankets for a living and sells them online, because he doesn't get out of the house much. Because reasons.Thanks for reading, and I hope you stick around to see wherever it is I'm going with this! :3
Relationships: Papyrus & Sans (Undertale), Sans (Undertale)/Reader
Comments: 232
Kudos: 1152





	1. Prologue: This is Fine

He’s on the hunt.

It’s a familiar feeling—prowling with focus, senses open, ready to _pounce_ just as soon as he sees…

………

Shit, _what_ was he here for again?

Sans looks around.

Shelves, piled high and bright with color, full of fluff and fuzz and shine.

Yarn, tons of it.

 _…craft store,_ he figures at length. _gotta be._

This particular aisle even looks a certain kinda familiar, like maybe he’s been here before…

Then again.

A whole _lotta_ the shops up here look the same, and _his_ broken sieve of a skull ain’t too great at picking out the minutiae of uniquity.

So…let’s back into this:

Sans is here, in the yarn aisle—makes sense he’d be looking for yarn.

Why?

He already had plenty at home, and what he didn’t have was easy to get delivered.

…Unless.

Faint memory tickles at the back of his skull.

He wants to reach for it, but knows that only makes ‘em slip faster, so he does his damnedest to just let it come.

Turns out luck is with him today.

 _outta stock,_ he remembers.

Yeah…yeah, that’s right: he got a message, real specific, absolutely _had_ to be a special brand of yarn, an _exact_ color blend, and his usual site was all out.

 _This_ was the only place that had any of it, and they didn’t do delivery.

Right.

Yeah, good.

So he was here, hunting.

…ssssomething.

What kinda yarn was he looking for?

Sans stiffens as he feels a touch on his shoulder—five sharp, needle-point phalanges wordlessly telling him that he took too long to figure it out.

“DID YOU FORGET WHAT WE’RE HERE FOR?” his brother asks, annoyingly neutral.

Trying not to make him feel _stupid._

(It might’ve been a little more effective if Sans could remember how to move his hands to tell Papyrus to shut the hell up.)

He just sticks his middle-finger up at him, figuring it’ll get the point across well enough.

Papyrus sighs, rolling his eye-lights.

“NO NEED TO BITE MY HEAD OFF, I WAS ONLY _ASKING.”_

If Sans could grumble, he would.

 _“i remember,”_ he signs back. _“just stuck on the name…”_

It was…

It was an s-name, he thinks…sounded a little bit like a font—he’d thought that was sorta funny, so it stuck.

_s… s… sitka? sylfaen? segoe?_

He pauses on that one.

Segoe felt… _close…_ but…

_shit._

He’d know it if he _saw_ it!

Sans crosses and waves his index fingers, forcefully signing, _“ugly!”_ to his brother.

He remembers _that,_ it was butt-ugly— _“blue and yellow and orange and **green** , nasty,”_ it was beyond him why somebody wanted a blanket made out of a blend like _that_ , or why it should be such an _ordeal_ to find—

“THAT EYE-SORE OVER THERE?”

Sans blinks, turning to the end of the aisle where Papyrus is pointing.

………

_**shit.** _

That’s it, alright.

 _Not_ acknowledging the smug look on Papyrus’ pointy mug, Sans storms over to the basket of color-puke, skull ducked to hide the tinge of red along his cheekbones.

He could’ve found it…

The label on the basket reads ‘SEDONA,’ so he was _close_ , too, he _would’ve_ gotten it in just another minute or two!

_tch, whatever…_

Sans reaches for the yarn.

…And something bumps his hand.

He yanks his arm away lightning-quick, actually moving _back_ a step in surprise.

“Whoops, sorry!” someone says. “I didn’t mean to spook you!”

Sans looks down to see…

You.

A _human._

…Of _course_ you’re a human—in a human craft store, how _shocking_ —and Sans should’ve never been so startled by you except that he has _no_ idea where you just came from.

(Most humans steered _well_ clear of monsters, as a rule, _especially_ ones as sharp and scary-looking as he and his brother.)

“I’m just gonna grab a couple of these,” you say, reaching for the skeins in front of him. “Unless you were going to take _all_ of them, I guess?”

You laugh, obviously making a joke, but…

He _was._

Going to take all of them.

It took a lot to make a blanket, even out of the big chunky stuff like this, and it was better to have a little extra than not enough.

~~Better to _not_ have to come back out in public, _supervised_ under his brother’s watchful eye-socket.~~

But you’re…looking at him.

With a friendly smile and…and warm eyes, and…

………

Oh, stars.

Now that he’s looking…

You’re… _very_ cute…

Sans has never _not_ been a sucker for a smile like yours.

Slowly, he nods and watches that smile brighten even more.

“Thanks!” you chirp, grabbing up two skeins of hideous sedona yarn.

Sans picks up the entire basket after you, which seems to tickle your funny-bone.

(Oh, _damn_ his broken voice, that joke would’ve _killed…!)_

“Looks like _you’ve_ got a lot of work to do,” you chuckle. “Guess I’ll leave you to it—thanks for letting me snag a couple!”

He nods again—which is stupid, because you’re already walking away, but it’s not like he can _un_ -nod, so it is what it is.

And then, you’re gone, just as suddenly as you appeared.

Behind him, Papyrus suddenly snorts, _loudly._

“WHAT WAS _THAT???”_

Sans huffs.

 _“nothing,”_ he signs, in no mood for his brother to be giving him crap.

Because it was true: that was nothing.

A cute human, a perfect opportunity for a wink and a pick-up line and…he just stood there.

 _Dead_ -silent.

“REALLY?” Papyrus asks, sounding amused. “IT DIDN’T PARTICULARLY _LOOK_ LIKE NOTHING. IN FACT, I’D ALMOST SAY—”

Sans still can’t remember how to say ‘shut up’ with his hands.

But his hands _do_ still remember how to give Papyrus a good shove in the arm, and that’s at _least_ as effective as the ol’ middle finger.

His brother laughs, but lets it drop and they make their way to the checkout.

As a nervous-looking cashier scans all of the unfortunately ugly yarn he’s gonna have to look at for a good long while, Sans thinks.

It was nothing.

And it was _fine_ that it was nothing.

You weren’t some…big, missed opportunity.

You were just a random human, at some random store, that just _happened_ across his path.

Sure, you’d been cute: in better days, he’d have been able to turn the charm on you, flirt a little, see if it’d get him anywhere…

But that ain’t him anymore, and you’re _long_ gone anyhow.

He’d probably never even _see_ you again.

And if he did, he almost _definitely_ wouldn’t remember you.

So really, it was…

Fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I came up with a [Horrorfell](https://popatochisssp.tumblr.com/post/190481512178/alright-this-one-definitely-goes-under-a-cut-xd) concept and, because I have no self-control, I drafted up an outline within like, 48 hours. OTL
> 
> So...here we go, I guess! XD
> 
> Quick notes relevant for this chapter if you don't want to read all the stuff in the link: in this AU, Sans is mute and relies on sign to communicate. He's not the best at it yet because of the big hole in his skull that messes with his memory retention, but he's working on it.
> 
> He also makes blankets for a living and sells them online, because he doesn't get out of the house much. Because reasons.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you stick around to see wherever it is I'm going with this! :3


	2. Cast On

You thread your yarn through the final loop, steady and careful.

…You think you’re done.

There’s no point blocking it— _acrylic_ , but you hadn’t wanted to waste your _good_ stuff—so now that you’ve cast off and knotted it tight, the loose end tucked away…

Yes, you’re done!

Your first attempt at finger-knitting, a success!

You hold your newly-made scarf out in front of you, inspecting the final product.

There’s mistakes, of course, little places you slipped up that you know are there: the hastily fixed hole from where you’d dropped a stitch, a slight unevenness from where you picked one _up_ somehow, a stutter in the pattern midway through where you got turned around and knit the wrong sequence.

But you’d expected imperfection.

That was why you’d chosen a twisty, lacy pattern for your test-run, and an unpredictable gradient yarn, and why you’d picked a scarf that would spend most of its time looped around and around itself.

To any casual observer, it would look just fine (if a little gaudy), camouflaging its own little blemishes within itself.

Pride bubbles up in your chest as you look at it.

You made a thing! And it’s a pretty good thing!

You kinda want to wear it out, show it off a little…

So, that’s exactly what you do.

-

It’s the cusp of fall outside, only mildly chilly, a perfectly nice afternoon for a little walk. With a sensibly warm outfit, accessorized with your thick and fuzzy scarf, you could be out all day in this weather and not bat an eye.

The fact that you technically have nowhere to go and nothing to do doesn’t particularly phase you—you know you’ll find something to occupy your time, sooner or later.

Mostly, you wander, enjoying the sights of the city.

Sidewalks, trees, storefronts and people just like you, walking or driving past on their own business… Mundane stuff, really, but stuff you try to remember to appreciate every now and again, no matter how long you live somewhere.

It’s one of the little things in life that you find enjoyment in and you like to indulge when you can.

Being an optimist isn’t always the _easiest_ thing to do, but in your experience, finding things to appreciate really helps it along.

Living in _Ebott_ , the city where monsters rose from the depths of the earth to peace and freedom, after _hundreds of years_ of turmoil and strife, is just one of those things.

It’s almost enough to make you believe in miracles, all by itself.

You decide to take extra note of your fellow citizens today that happen to be non-human, just because, and it’s a decision you don’t regret.

You see only good things.

A diamond-headed youth runs past you in the park, catching a frisbee with a prosthetic hand.

While you buy a quick lunch at the grocery store, you see a family of rabbits checking out with their cart full of food ~~instead of overflowing with it, like those early days~~.

A bespectacled manticore in a smart set of heels clicks by you on the sidewalk and the fuzzy infant strapped to her chest waves at you with soft paws and an even-toothed smile—a whole new generation, born without the claws and fangs of their parents.

It’s _incredible._

Nothing less than what monsters deserve, in your opinion!

Some of them could be scary, a little mean or a little rough around the edges, sure…but you don’t know that _you’d_ be any better if you grew up in a hole in the ground with barely enough to survive, and then later, not even _that_ much.

When they weren’t actively starving to death and when you approached them with respect and a smile, you at least had found monsters to be perfectly reasonable people, no matter _what_ they looked like.

Even the biggest, pointiest, scariest-looking of monsters were more apt to just stay out of the way and mind their own business than purposefully bother humans.

Like…like that guy, right there!

Just leaning up against the wall next to that little garden shop, hands in his pockets, not even tilting his skull down to look at the humans that…

…

Hang on.

You think you _recognize_ that guy.

Pausing mid-step, you take a longer look.

The skeleton across the street is _big,_ at least two heads taller than you and broad-shouldered; bulky-looking. The thick turtleneck sweater he’s wearing beneath a worn hooded jacket only emphasizes the impression, but for all that he _must_ be just bones, he looks _solid._

(The fact that he’s still upright and walking around in spite of the massive, jagged _hole_ in his cranium is just further testament to that.)

With his skull angled away from you like this, you get a pretty good look at the void-black chasm of his head, and at three little dots of gold along the hinge of his jaw—piercings? Something else? You can’t guess—before your manners kick in and you remember how rude it is to stare like that.

Thankfully, the skeleton hasn’t noticed you yet, the strange red light in his eye-socket just…staring off into the middle distance.

You _definitely_ recognize him, as soon as you spot that light.

He was at the craft store with you, just a few weeks ago, buying the same kind of yarn. He’d needed a whole lot of it, but he looked down at you with that glowing red light and let you steal a couple skeins anyway.

You remember thinking that was pretty nice of him.

Right now, you can’t help but notice that from here, your fellow crafter looks…pretty bored.

And you think that now is probably as good a time as any to go say hi!

You cross the street.

The skeleton doesn’t seem to notice you until you’re practically right next to him.

He even does a double-take when it becomes obvious you’re walking _to_ him and not trying to _pass_ him, but you just slap a friendly smile on your face.

“Hey,” you chirp, “long time, no see, huh?”

He just…looks at you in response.

…Perhaps not finding your joke of familiarity very funny?

“I haven’t seen you since the Craft Tree,” you try again, grinning wider. “How’s your project going? Or do you just hoard yarn like I do?”

Still…still nothing, just a _look_ with wide eye-sockets, like this poor guy has _no_ idea who you are or why you’re talking to him.

Maybe your momentary interaction wasn’t as memorable to him as it was to you?

Or…or maybe he’s one of those monsters who gets a little tense around humans?

Either way, this is rapidly taking a turn for the Very Incredibly Awkward, and it makes your smile falter.

“Uh… Maybe you……don’t…I—”

You cut yourself off as the skeleton moves, pulling his hands out of his pockets.

His claws, thick and curved, come up in front of his chest. Haltingly, one big hand curls inward, slowly making a circular movement and, looking between it and the uncertain grimace on his skull, it takes you a moment to realize you recognize that motion.

_“sorry…”_

“Oh!” you exclaim suddenly, making the skeleton jump in surprise.

Not your intention, but this is a _relief_ , something you know how to respond to much better than confused, weird silence.

 _“I’m_ sorry,” you say, enunciating clearly and making the matching signs for your words. “Is this better?”

You weren’t sure how a skull could be so expressive, but it’s clear to you—from the way the ridges above his sockets shoot up, and the way his mouth hangs open, his one gold fang and the dots on the other side glinting in the light—that you have utterly _gobsmacked_ this man.

Sadly, not an altogether _surprising_ reaction to knowing sign.

You don’t begrudge him the moment or two it takes him to respond.

 _“not……deaf,”_ he signs back to you, slowly. _“you don’t…have to sign. just can’t…talk back.”_

Oh, well.

“I don’t mind,” you say, keeping your hands moving. “Sorry for the misunderstanding, I didn’t know.”

He just shrugs.

 _“it’s fine,”_ he says. And then, he winces, just a little. _“sorry…again…… don’t…remember you…”_

The admission seems to embarrass him, his eye-light flicking away from you.

“Aw, hey,” you hasten to reassure him, “don’t worry about it! It was a couple weeks ago, that we met. ‘Met,’ uh, might be a little too generous, we didn’t even exchange names or anything, it’s _not_ a big deal.”

Speaking of, though, you take the opportunity to introduce yourself.

He responds, finger-spelling his own name for you.

_“s-a-n-s.”_

“Sans?” you repeat aloud, waiting for his nod to confirm your pronunciation. “Well, nice to officially meet you, Sans!”

_“thanks. wish i could remember…the first time. seems like i made…an impression.”_

“It was a _good_ impression,” you promise. “You let me snag some of your yarn before you bought the whole color out. Really appreciated that!”

You fish around in your coat a bit, pulling the tails of your scarf out.

“I think it came out pretty well,” you say, showing it off a bit.

Finally, some kind of recognition seems to spark on Sans’ face.

It is…not a _pleasant_ sort of recognition.

In probably the most diplomatic words possible, he says, _“yours is…better than mine.”_

To your quizzical look, he digs about in his pockets for a moment, fiddling with his phone before turning it to show you.

On the screen is a picture, an in-progress shot of what can only be a blanket in the very same Sedona yarn as your scarf, and…

“Ah. …Would it offend you if I said it looks like a beach sunset threw up?”

Sans shakes his head in the negative, putting his phone away again.

 _“ugly,”_ he agrees. _“but at least they seemed…happy with it so far…”_

Sans pauses, a look of consternation on his face.

The signs that follow from him never quite express a complete thought, but you do your best to get his meaning.

_“them…the person…buying……wanted…”_

“…Client?” you hesitantly guess, making the sign for the word as you say it aloud.

Sans snaps his fingers in agreement.

 _“client,”_ he signs, and then again, _**“client.** yeah. they like it.”_

He sighs, a little exhale of breath that sounds more like a huff than anything else.

 _“sorry. learning.”_ He briefly raps on his skull with his knuckle, continuing, _“very slow…stupid.”_

“You’re doing fine!” you sharply disagree. “It’s hard to remember words when you never use them. You probably just need to practice more—like you’re doing right now!”

You smile up at him, bright and encouraging.

He stares at you.

And slowly, his shoulders start to bounce, just a little…like he’s silently chuckling.

Sans holds two claws against his chin, flicking downwards in a quick, decisive assessment of you.

_“cute.”_

Your eyes widen, cheeks feeling suddenly hot.

“Shut up!” you find yourself snapping at him, “I was trying to be—………”

The two of you appear to realize it at the same time.

You just told…

A _mute_ skeleton…

To _shut up._

You _both_ start to laugh at _that_ one, so hard that you can feel it in your cheeks; so hard that in addition to his shaking shoulders, a stuttered sort of hissing comes out of Sans—you can only assume his version of laughter.

It’s a surprisingly endearing sound, from so big and seemingly scary a monster.

Eventually, the two of you settle down, and it occurs to you to ask an important question.

“Oh, jeez, I didn’t even… I’m not keeping you from anything, am I? I just sorta…came on over, didn’t even ask if you were busy…”

Sans shakes his head, though, looking unconcerned.

 _“waiting for cactus,”_ he tells you, which—since he’s loitering here outside of a _gardening_ shop—makes a lot of sense, you suppose.

“Well…” you slowly propose. “I’ve got nowhere to be. I could hang out, while you’re waiting? Maybe get in some more of that sign practice?”

Aside from that little hiccup right at the beginning, it’s been nice chatting with Sans.

You don’t think you’d mind sticking around a little longer and doing some more of it, if he was willing.

 _“cute,”_ he says again, but then, _“can’t. time’s up.”_

You’re not sure you’ll ever know how he knew, without even turning around, but sure enough the door of the shop behind him chimes and another skeleton steps out onto the sidewalk.

Though with the sheer height of him, it’s really more like he _unfolds_ out, ducking down through the entryway and immediately straightening up to his full height—which _has_ to be _at least_ two feet taller than you.

And you’d thought _Sans_ was big.

This new skeleton, dressed all in black, squints down at you with narrowed red eye-lights—two to Sans’ one—staring at you as if sizing you up, measuring you in a matter of moments.

You might’ve been more _intimidated_ by the look, if not for the cute little pink bonsai held in his sharp, spindly fingers as he shot it at you.

 _That’s…not a cactus,_ is all you manage to think, nonsensically.

The newcomer’s sharp, interlocking fangs part, cutting off any attempt at greeting him.

“MY BROTHER CAN’T SPEAK,” he tells you flatly in a loud, imperious voice. “HE ISN’T SNUBBING YOU, PERSONALLY, HE CAN ONLY RESPOND IN—”

“Sign language,” you interrupt, echoing it with your fingers.

The other skeleton stills, looking…probably about as surprised as Sans had, honestly.

(That doesn’t seem to stop Sans from poorly covering a laugh at the utterly _thrown_ look on his face, though.)

“It took us a minute, but we worked it out,” you explain. “Thanks, though!”

You proceed to introduce yourself to the new monster—apparently, Sans’ brother—and he takes another moment to look at you, perhaps recalculating whatever he’d concluded before.

“…PAPYRUS,” he brusquely introduces right back. And then, to Sans, “WE’RE LEAVING.”

Looking resigned to this, Sans shrugs…though you can’t help but feel like he looks a little disappointed, too.

(You…might be projecting on that one…)

“Right…well… It was nice to meet you, Sans,” you say honestly. “Maybe I’ll see you around at the Craft Tree or something.”

Not _extremely_ likely, but…c’est la vie, you suppose…

“OR YOU COULD JUST TEXT HIM.”

You blink in confusion, looking up at Papyrus—currently arching a browbone at you, like you were being particularly dense.

“HAVE YOU NOT EXCHANGED PHONE NUMBERS YET?” he demands, fixing _both_ of you with that ‘how dumb _are_ you?’ look. “UNBELIEVABLE. AND NOW, I SUPPOSE YOU’RE GOING TO MAKE ME STAND HERE ALL DAY WAITING ON YOU.”

……Oh!

You look over at Sans, trying to gauge his reaction to the suggestion.

In spite of a faint, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it tinge of brick-dust red across his cheekbones, he doesn’t seem opposed.

So you smile, pulling out your phone.

You take down each other’s info, shooting a couple emojis between you to make sure it was all good, all while Papyrus stood between you, rolling his eye-lights.

“YOU’RE _WELCOME,”_ you can faintly hear him saying as the brothers walk off toward a very nice-looking car, and Sans takes a swipe at him that’s easily dodged, but you’re not paying much attention to that.

You’ve just made yourself a new friend!

Your very first monster friend, _and_ a fellow knitter, to boot!

You wonder if he’d like to come along with you to…

Well, no, no point getting ahead of yourself, when you’ve only had one conversation with the guy.

Still, the possibilities are exciting.

You guess you’ll just have to see how this goes!

You head back home with a little spring in your step, feeling pretty good about your day.


	3. Snags

**franci73@ebbmail.net**  
Queen-Size Lace Blanket – Rush???

My gf would reeeeaaaaally love to get one of these for xmas, but can you come down on the price at all? I don’t think it’s really worth what you’re charging, yarn’s not that expensive…

 **xXlgndryXx@ebbmail.net**  
pls!!!!

what can u send me fr free? i can’t pay u rite now but i’ll show it on my channel, itll get u so many customers!!

 **rlopez@ebbbmil.net**  
Commission Request

I love the design, it’s perfect! I can pay you half upfront like you said, but I only have travelers checks, is that ok?

-

Sans scrubs a hand over his face, sighing deeply.

 _nice try, fuckers,_ he thinks at the slew of emails in his inbox. _i may be slow, but i ain’t **stupid…**_

He knows a scam when he sees one, and there’s not a single legit commission in here today.

He deletes them all, without hesitation.

Business wasn’t _booming,_ per se, but Sans sure as shit wasn’t in enough trouble to chase after jerks like _that._

And it wasn’t like they needed the money anyway—not with their reparations and disability stipends from the humans; with the under-the-table ‘gratitude’ sent his brother’s way for all his help during the crisis, from the Empress herself.

………

Or was she just going by ‘Queen Toriel’ now?

Sans can’t remember.

~~_big surprise._ ~~

…Whatever.

It’s not like he actually kept _up_ with the crazy old bat anyhow, after everything shook out…the way it did.

~~He…hadn’t kept up with much of anybody…~~

The _point_ was…they weren’t strapped for cash, he and his brother, and if he felt like telling a few ‘paying’ ‘customers’ to hit the bricks, he could do it without a second thought.

Fuck ‘em.

A sound abruptly breaks through Sans’ thoughts.

He goes still and frowns, because—

_…what the fuck?_

It takes him awhile to even recognize the noise.

So long, in fact, that it happens again before he makes the connection.

It's his phone, chiming to remind him that he has just received a text.

Sans’ frown only deepens as he digs through the blankets on his bed, looking for the damn thing and wondering who the hell is _texting_ him.

Who the hell has his _number_ to text him?!

Phone in hand, he looks down at the screen.

 **yarn buddy:** Just a thought, it’s cool if you don’t want to! :)

………

Well, that’s no help.

Context, Sans needs _context…_

He scrolls up, all the way.

Emojis, ‘hey’s, ‘it’s me’s, no, _that’s_ useless…

 **yarn buddy:** I don’t know if you do the whole contact picture thing or not, but I took a really good selfie today, so if you’re gonna use anything use this!

 **yarn buddy:** [IMG-01]

And just like that, recognition sparks.

_You._

Bright eyes, a cute smile, fingers that echoed the words from your mouth…

A totally normal conversation, for the first time in ages.

Sans _remembers_ you.

Pausing only to save your picture under your name first, he keeps thumbing through the texts, skimming through a couple days of correspondence.

 **yarn buddy:** Well jeez, I didn’t know I was talking to royalty!!!

 **me:** he ain’t anymore, he retired

 **me:** wait lmco how’d you not know

 **yarn buddy:** Should I have just ASSUMED that ‘my new friend’s brother Papyrus’ and ‘Former KING OF ALL MONSTERS Papyrus’ were the same guy?!

 **me:** yeah

 **me:** how common do you think that name is

 **yarn buddy:** For all I know, it’s the skeleton-equivalent of John, okay, cut me some slack!

 **me:** rofl

 **yarn buddy:** Oh you most certainly are NOT rolling on the floor laughing, you big liar!

 **yarn buddy:** I try to be tactful and considerate and this is what I get…

Sans snorts, probably just as amused as he was when you sent that.

He reads some more.

 **yarn buddy:** So how long have you been knitting? I picked it up in high school for an art project and then just sorta stuck with it lol

 **me:** years, idek… had to keep my bro in sweaters that fit, at first, but then it was kinda fun

 **me:** dropped it for awhile til i evetually got back into it, helps pay the bills

 **yarn buddy:** Oh right, you do commissions! Do you just make blankets or other stuff too?

 **me:** mostly blankets yeah

 **me:** [IMG-05]

 **yarn buddy:** Oh man, I love that chunky look! Is that arm-knitting?

 **me:** lol for you maybe

 **me:** [IMG-06]

 **yarn buddy:** Well then

 **yarn buddy:** I guess we can’t all have big giant bear-paws like you! 😤

 **me:** heheheh don’t be jealous, they’re no damn good at all for detail work

 **me:** it’s unbearable

 **yarn buddy:** Somehow I doubt that…

………

 **yarn buddy:** Wait

 **yarn buddy:** Did you just

 **me:** :)

 **yarn buddy:** Ohhhhh, a punny guy, huh? Well, two can play at that game!

You…were _not_ kidding.

Sans ends up _wheezing_ reading the backlog of puns you’d apparently shot at him, even laughing at his own where he’d clearly given as good as he got.

Some of this stuff, he remembers, vaguely but _there_ ; familiarity lingering in his broken skull.

Some of it, he doesn’t and it’s freshly hilarious all over again.

A cute little knitter with a _killer_ sense of humor—yeah, he _definitely_ did right getting _your_ number.

But…

Scrolling even further, looking at the timestamps on all these messages…

Right down at the end of it is a gap.

Something you’d sent two _days_ ago, and then the newest one today.

 _did i forget…?_ Sans can’t help but wonder, knowing it wouldn’t be the first time he ghosted on accident.

He reads the last two texts he got from you.

 **yarn buddy:** So…there’s this thing I go to, Thursday nights, at this café. It’s like a bitch-and-stitch knitting circle kind of thing, totally free and really fun! Maybe you could come by sometime?

………

 **yarn buddy:** Just a thought, it’s cool if you don’t want to! :)

…ah.

Sans…can guess why he didn’t answer you the first time.

Because at this thing you’re requesting, so seemingly easy and innocent, he’s struck anew with…uncertainty.

Part of him wants to put his phone down again, get absorbed in something else until the void once more takes the question and the awkward burden of a reply from his mind.

Another part wants to be brutally honest with you, just to see how soundly you’d ghost him right back.

………

But.

There’s another part of him, one that he can’t quite articulate, that knows either of those options are _terrible._

(Somebody cute and funny, somebody who can actually _talk_ to him, _without_ it being a big goddamn production…even if it _is_ too good to be true, why the hell should he sabotage it _on purpose?_ )

Keeping his phone in hand, to remember, Sans…gets up.

A little walk might help.

Give him time to come up with something to say to you and your dangerous question _without_ wrecking the whole thing…

Sans sighs.

_nothin’ can ever be easy, can it?_

-

Sans wanders the house—there’s not really anywhere else for him to go.

He rustles around in the kitchen and pockets a stick of jerky, not hungry now but you never know.

He opens the back door and notes the afternoon sun glinting off an empty metal bowl. No good to any strays like that, better take it in to fill up later, when he wouldn’t get caught.

He even pokes his skull into the garage where his brother’s shiny luxury car sits, in need of absolutely no maintenance whatsoever.

~~No distractions…~~

In a last ditch effort, Sans meanders down the hall, to the open door where the all the harps and bird sounds are spilling out.

Papyrus’ hippie ‘meditation music’: _not_ to Sans’ liking, _that_ was for damn sure…

Sure as shit, Papyrus is in there, surrounded by all his goofy little trees and his sandbox-for-grown-ups and…

And Sans is being a dick, even if it _is_ just in his own head.

Whether he _gets_ it or not, his brother likes this junk; says it _works_ for him, to come in here sometimes and prune branches or rake sand or do…whatever it is he does in his head when he sits there on the floor with his sockets closed.

Sans isn’t _quite_ enough of an asshole to begrudge Papyrus that.

So he tries not to make too much noise barging in, at least, seeing what’s up with his sibling as unobtrusively as he knows how.

Papyrus, for his part, doesn’t so much as flinch from the intrusion, staying motionless and seated with his legs cr…

Wait.

There’s only a leg and a half.

_where’s…?_

Sans turns his head, looking around the sparse little room Papyrus had commandeered for all his new age stuff until he spots the missing half, leaned out of the way up against the wall.

Why was it off?

Was it not working right?

Was something wrong with it?

Sans doesn’t make it more than two steps towards the discarded prosthetic before his brother acknowledges him.

“IT’S FINE, SANS,” Papyrus says, matter-of-factly. “LEAVE IT.”

Sockets open, eye-lights on him, Sans starts to sign.

_“but…”_

“THERE’S NOTHING WRONG WITH IT.”

Sans frowns.

“I JUST TAKE IT OFF SOMETIMES,” Papyrus insists. “THAT DOESN’T MEAN IT NEEDS TO BE FIXED.”

He must not look all too convinced, because his haughty brother’s perpetual scowl actually seems to soften a bit.

“YOU DO GOOD WORK, SANS,” he says. “I HALF-EXPECT THAT THING COULD SURVIVE AN _EXPLOSION_ BEFORE YOU WOULD EVEN NEED TO…RECALIBRATE IT, OR WHATEVER IT IS YOU DO FOR MAINTENANCE.”

Sans huffs.

He’d _hope_ so.

That leg hadn’t been easy to cobble together.

It hadn’t been _quick_ either.

But back then, between the new hole in his head and the searing pain from his jaw to his clavicle and Papyrus stubbornly trying to _hop_ around the house to make sure the barricades were secure, Sans had put his _all_ into that damn thing.

It’d _better_ be working fine.

…but still.

_“no explosions. i won’t fix it.”_

“HMPH, AND I WAS JUST SINGING YOUR PRAISES… SOME BROTHER _YOU_ ARE.”

Sans makes a gesture he learned well before ever starting to pick up proper sign, to show Papyrus just how much weight and consideration he gives this assessment of his character.

“CHARMING,” Papyrus retorts. _“WHY_ ARE YOU HERE AGAIN?”

The question is snippy, rude, _demanding…_

And quite frankly, it puts Sans at ease more than any gentle tone or understanding look _ever_ could.

Business as usual between the two of them and that’s worth its weight in gold these days.

Except…

………why _is_ he here?

Sans ponders the question a moment, tempted to shrug and leave Papyrus to conclude that he’d just felt like harassing him a little.

But then, he feels the weight of his phone in his hand…and he remembers.

And grimaces.

Papyrus notices this.

“WHAT?” he demands.

Slowly, reluctantly, Sans finger-spells your name.

Papyrus’ shoulders visibly relax. “AH. THE HUMAN FROM THE CRAFT STORE. WHAT ABOUT THEM?”

Sans hesitates.

_“…they…want me to go somewhere. some café.”_

“SOUNDS QUAINT. AND?”

………

Annoyed at the lack of an appropriate reaction, Sans' next gestures are particularly sharp.

_“what do you mean, ‘and’?”_

“WHAT DO _YOU_ MEAN, ‘WHAT DO YOU MEAN,’” Papyrus shoots right back, nonplussed. “ARE YOU ASKING ME FOR PERMISSION TO _GO?_ I’M NOT YOUR KEEPER, SANS!”

_“…aren’t you?”_

Ooh—Papyrus didn’t like _that_ one.

Sans can tell by the way his brother reaches for his leg, securing it with a practiced click and hiss and standing to his full, bastardous height.

“NO,” he replies, curt as anything. “IF YOU DON’T WANT TO HANG OUT WITH YOUR LITTLE HUMAN FRIEND, DON’T, BUT DON’T USE ME AS AN EXCUSE, EITHER. I’M NOT GOING TO STOP YOU.”

Papyrus takes a step forward, like he intends to end the conversation there.

Sans catches his arm, making him look as he pointedly signs the real question.

_“is that **safe?”**_

That… that stops Papyrus in his tracks.

They _both_ know the reason he mostly stays at home these days.

Why he shops almost exclusively online.

Why he hasn’t been to Grillby’s in _years._

Why any exposure to ‘polite society’ on the surface has come with an all-but-mandatory escort.

The subtext, Sans’ most pressing question:

_can i be trusted that far, without a safety net?_

Papyrus sags a little, undoubtedly coming to his senses; succumbing to logic and reason.

It’s too bitter a victory for Sans to enjoy an ‘i told you so.’

“SANS…” Papyrus says, regret and sympathy in his tone. “I AM…GETTING REALLY FUCKING _SICK_ OF YOU.”

Sans’ jaw drops.

He’s so deeply, passionately— _instantly_ —offended that he can’t even manage to throw together a sign before Papyrus keeps talking.

“YOU LURK AROUND THE GODDAMN HOUSE LIKE THE SADDEST, MOST _BORING_ POLTERGEIST IN EXISTENCE FOR _MONTHS_ AND YOU EXPECT ME TO—WHAT, _PITY_ YOU FOR IT?”

_“no!”_

“GOOD, BECAUSE I’M NOT GOING TO! YOU’RE A GROWN SKELETON, YOU CAN HAVE A PLAYDATE WITH YOUR FRIEND IF YOU WANT TO, THE WORLD ISN’T GOING TO END IF YOU GO _OUTSIDE_ FOR ONCE.”

_“you—”_

“FRANKLY,” Papyrus continues, _“I_ THINK IT’D BE WORTH THE RISK OF A CASUALTY OR TWO IF JUST TO GET YOU OUT FROM _UNDERFOOT_ WHEN I’M _TRYING_ TO ENJOY WHAT LITTLE LEISURE TIME I HAVE.”

_“that’s not—”_

“STARS _ABOVE,_ SANS, HOW _STRESSFUL_ COULD A _CAFÉ_ POSSIBLY BE, ANYWAY? SOME FROU-FROU LITTLE PLACE WITH A FRILLY AWNING AND A MAXIMUM CAPACITY OF _TEN_ —IS _THAT_ WHAT YOU’RE SCARED OF???”

Sans isn’t stupid.

Slow, but not stupid, and though it takes him a minute, he knows _damn_ well what Papyrus is doing.

…which is not to say that he isn’t still _falling_ for it, hook, line, and sinker.

 _“i’m not scared of it,”_ he snaps back.

“DO YOU WANT ME TO GO WITH YOU?” Papyrus prods further, condescension dripping from the words. “IT MIGHT BE HARD TO SIGN WITH YOUR FRIEND IF YOU NEED ME TO HOLD YOUR HAND…”

_oh, fuck **you!**_

_“i don’t need to be **babysat,** asshole!”_

“NO?” Papyrus wonders. _“PROVE_ IT.”

A challenge.

A _dare._

 _Obvious_ reverse psychology, and yet…

 _“bet,”_ Sans calls, spinning right around on his heel and stomping out.

He pulls up his phone and texts you back immediately.

 **me:** where’s it at

 **yarn buddy:** It’s Deja Brew, it’s only a block away from the park if you know where that is!

Sans thinks he does.

He might’ve even _seen_ the place before, if his fuzzy, sporadic memory serves for once.

He could shortcut there right now, scope the place out _well_ in advance of Thursday night…

And that’s exactly what he does.

He ain’t scared of no prissy little coffee shop—this prissy little coffee shop oughta be scared of _him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, true story, Papyrus was _supposed_ to gently reassure Sans that he could handle this and give him affectionate brotherly support.
> 
> ...But then he decided he knew his brother better than I did and that picking a fight and pissing him off was the only thing that'd get him to stop feeling sorry for himself and I guess it turns out he was right, so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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